


insi(de an)d outside

by thisisapaige



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blasphemy, Canon Universe, Castiel POV, Castiel as God (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester UST, Dark, I feel like I should tag, M/M, Season/Series 07, Sexual Tension, but like this is a Supernatual fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:55:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29850147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisapaige/pseuds/thisisapaige
Summary: Castiel smiled. His Dean— His defiant, determined Dean— was ever the hero. Dean never gave in without a fight, without exhausting every plan and trying every angle. It was so human of him. Castiel could not help but love him for it."Surely you know holy fire cannot hold a God?" Castiel asked."You know me." The flames flickered across Dean's face, casting shadows over the hollows of his cheeks. "I had to try."
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 82
Kudos: 216





	1. Closer

**Author's Note:**

> For full effect, blast Closer by NIN while you read. It's how I wrote it. I'm having a lot of Godstiel feels lately.  
> [Please feel free to say hi to me on Tumblr!](https://thisisapaige.tumblr.com/)

A trap created just for Him. How kind of Dean to make it. 

Castiel answered the prayer. How could He not after Dean so sweetly requested His presence? Castiel obliged Dean, standing directly in the circle of holy fire, set up in the centre of the abandoned warehouse. Dean lit his lighter and dropped it to the floor as soon as Castiel landed. 

Castiel smiled. His Dean— His defiant, determined Dean— was ever the hero. Dean never gave in without a fight, without exhausting every plan and trying every angle. It was so human of him. Castiel could not help but love him for it. 

"Surely you know holy fire cannot hold a God?" Castiel asked.

"You know me." The flames flickered across Dean's face, casting shadows over the hollows of his cheeks. "I had to try."

"Of course," Castiel said, moving to the edge of the fire, "you wouldn't be you if you hadn't."

Dean approached the circle, drawn in by Castiel's gaze. He moved as close to the flames as he could, never breaking Castiel's stare. Sweat beaded on Dean's brow from the heat of the holy fire. The air shimmered between them. 

Dean's heart beat rapidly— a bit of fear and a bit of something more— at a faster pace than the two hearts outside the door. Those hearts belonged to Sam and Bobby. Their rhythm had grown familiar to Castiel throughout their time together during the Apocalypse. Back then, His grace had been so weak He could only note the patterns. Now, he knew that Sam had consumed large amounts of caffeine that day and Bobby's blood pressure was extremely elevated. Both of them were rather stressed. 

Neither Sam nor Bobby were as stressed as Dean, whose blood carried alcohol— not a lot, at least for Dean— and substances to keep him awake. Castiel squinted, looking closer, looking inside. Dean had not slept in days. 

"Losing sleep?" Castiel asked. "You should take better care of yourself. You're human. You need to rest."

"I would," Dean said, "but you have to stop what you're doing first."

"Why?" Castiel tilted his head, trying to find the meaning behind Dean's wide eyes. "I'm doing this for you. It's a gift."

A laugh escaped Dean's mouth, high-pitched and humourless. "Yeah. Killing people. Exactly what I want. Thanks." 

Castiel detected sarcasm. "They were sinners."

"They were _people._ "

Castiel raised his hand. Dean flinched. Castiel did not want that. He would never hurt Dean. 

With a flick of His wrist, Castiel doused the flames. The smoke hissed, the arid scent filling the building. Calm and collected, Castiel walked forward. He knew Dean held a blade in his hand. He also knew it would not harm Him. For every step Castiel took forward, Dean stepped back. 

"Then tell me what you want," Castiel said, soft and serene. 

"I want you to stop," Dean said.

"You don't understand." Castiel sighed and clicked his tongue. "You don't understand what it's like to have all this power inside you. I can see things— understand things— you could never comprehend." 

Dean hit the wall behind him. The shock made him gasp and lose his grip on the blade. It clattered against the concrete floors, far out of his grasp. Castiel pinned Dean against the wall, intrigued by the way his eyes darkened when he looked up at Castiel. Dean's heart beat faster, his blood flowed to the organ between his legs, and his breaths became rapid and shallow. Arousal. Always arousal and never love. One day, Castiel would succeed in eliciting both. 

"I can show you," Castiel whispered, running a finger down the slope of Dean's jaw, "what it's like to have all this inside you. The clarity. The relief." Castiel ran his thumb over Dean's bottom lip. "All I need is your permission." 

Dean's tongue darted out, teasing the tip of Castiel's thumb, before Dean clamped his mouth shut and swallowed. Dean shook his head.

"A shame." Castiel ran his hand down Dean's throat, feeling the heat on his skin, and rest his palm on Dean's heart. It beat for Castiel. He could tell. "I won't hurt you. You know this." Castiel flicked his eyes to the door. "Otherwise, you would have cried for help."

Of course, Dean followed Castiel's gaze. One day, Dean would follow more. Dean pursed his lips and returned his attention to Castiel, his eyes shining and his pupils blown wide. He said nothing, but he did not have to. His body spoke for him. 

_Want._

"Be not afraid." Castiel pressed closer to Dean, feeling the lines of his body, feeling him hard against Him. "I can give you whatever you want. I want to give it to you." Castiel rocked his hips and Dean groaned, rolling his head back against the wall. So much vulnerable skin exposed by that simple action, ripe for Castiel's taking. However, He will not take it. Not yet. "All you have to do is ask."

"Cas..."

Castiel enjoyed the way Dean said his name, breathless and needy, but it was not an invitation. Castiel required a clear 'yes' from His Dean, a complete and voluntary submission made from Dean's own free will. Castiel wanted all of Dean— inside and outside— and He would accept nothing less.

"You're not ready." Castiel pulled back, just enough to let Dean breathe. "That's okay. It takes time to accept it."

"Cas." Dean licked his lips. "Cas, just—"

"It's okay, Dean." Castiel made a soothing noise. He pushed Dean's hair back from his forehead, His touch soft and gentle. "You're not ready yet."

"Cas." Dean reached out, grabbing the lapels of Castiel's trench coat. "Cas, just come back to me."

Castiel looked down at those human hands. They should do nothing to hold down God, yet Castiel craved their touch. One day, He would have them. He knew that with the full certainty of God.

"Dean," Castiel said, caressing the name with his tongue, "you already have me. You always have."

There were so many things Dean never put into words. Castiel could hear them now, hidden within Dean's slow blink. Dean had not known. Dean had not known of Castiel's devotion. Dean always wanted— Dean always needed— but he had not known that Castiel would have given it.

"You held back." Castiel hummed, assessing the flutter of Dean's eyelids. "You not ready yet. That is fine. When you are, I'm a prayer away." He tangled His fingers in Dean's hair and leaned in close. "I always come when you call."

Castiel placed a kiss upon Dean's forehead, sending a soft thrum of His grace with it. It contained all of Castiel's faith, love, and devotion. He needed His Dean to understand. Castiel needed His Dean to understand what it would be like to have it all— inside and outside.

The doors of the warehouse caved in when Castiel flew away. He watched from above when Sam and Bobby burst into the room, guns in hands. Those humans were always pointing a gun at their problems. It would have never worked on Castiel but he admired their tenacity. Yet another reason to love them.

Sam and Bobby found Dean alone, slumped in the corner of the warehouse with his head bowed as he tried to catch his breath. Sam and Bobby asked after Dean's wellbeing over and over again. Dean answered in the affirmative after the fifth time.

Dean sat on the floor, ignoring the way Sam and Bobby fussed over him. He tipped his head to the Heavens and sent out a prayer. 

All the souls inside Castiel trembled in anticipation of a long-awaited release. Castiel smiled. Yes, His Dean understood. Soon Castiel would have His Dean— inside and outside. 


	2. Vessel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed my mind. It's not a one shot. Expect short chapters. I'm gonna see if I can complete it over the weekend. Let's see where this goes, shall we?

The world feared Castiel. They did not understand. He was a just God, a better God. One day they would see. One day they would love him. 

Dean was beginning to understand. He prayed to Castiel, almost every night. Not all of them were in words. Some nights, Dean's supplications were slurred with alcohol. Other times he only sent a feeling, a current of longing. Dean still asked for Castiel to stop. Castiel did not mind. One day Dean would understand. 

The souls writhed within Castiel. They whispered their impatience, weary of all the waiting. Castiel reminded them of who brought them into being, who saved them from the prison known as Purgatory. He could keep the souls under control. The lesions on His vessel— hidden under his clothes— were just a test. 

Dean prayed. Castiel smiled. As Dean wished.

Bobby's house thrummed with the latent power of occult books and artifacts. It was quiet— imperceptible to all but the most superior beings. Castiel heard it. 

Dean awaited Castiel in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a beer bottle in hand. The beer, its label wet and wrinkled with condensation, remained full. Dean had not taken a single sip, despite removing the bottle exactly thirty minutes and seven seconds ago. His blood had no trace of alcohol in it. 

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said. 

Dean blinked, a response of surprise to Castiel's sudden— to a human's limited perception— appearance. "You showed up."

"Of course." Castiel stood directly across from Dean with His hands clasped behind His back. He remained a few feet away from Dean, respecting Dean's many previous requests for personal space. "I always come when you call." 

The two heartbeats of Sam and Bobby were slow and measured, the rhythm of deep sleep. Good. Alone in the darkness of the kitchen, Dean and Castiel would not be disturbed. The fact that Dean called Him in the early hours of the morning, sober and with his family asleep, meant Dean did this of his own volition. It was an encouraging development.

The moonlight beamed through the kitchen blinds, casting Dean's face in an abstract clash of silver light and shadow. It was art. 

"You fixed Sam. I--" Dean picked at the beer label. "Why?"

"Sam was a friend once," Castiel said. "Consider my mending of Sam's mind reparation."

" _Was_ a friend?"

"He did stab me in the back."

The whites of Dean's eyes shone. He set the beer down on the counter behind him and stood at his full height, crossing his arms. A defensive stance, Castiel noted. 

"Worry not," Castiel said. "He is important to you and, therefore, is important to me." 

"That's—" Dean took a shaky breath. "Cas, you're not acting like yourself."

"No?" Castiel stepped closer, pausing when Dean leaned away. "I feel more like myself than I ever had. Did I not show you how I feel?"

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the floor. "I know how you _think_ you feel. But Cas—"

Castiel sighed and closed the distance between them. He reached out— moving slowly and deliberately as to not alarm Dean— and laid His hand upon His Dean's shoulder. Tilting His head to capture Dean's gaze, Castiel peered inside His Dean. Dean's soul was sad, tired, conficted. Castiel did not want that. 

"Your soul is disquieted." Castiel raised His other hand and cupped Dean's face. Dean leaned into the touch. "What can I do to soothe it?"

"Be you. Just be—" Dean closed his eyes. Heat rose to Dean's cheeks. His heart pumped faster with each passing second. Finally, he pressed their foreheads together, and whispered, "Cas," so sweetly against Castiel's lips.

Castiel sensed His Dean's longing. It was a familiar pull. Castiel waited. 

Dean sighed, his breath warm against Castiel's skin, and kissed Castiel. Dean was soft, sweet, hesitant. He held back; Castiel could feel the hum of desire under Dean's touch. However, Castiel would not push. He wanted His Dean to ask for Him, to give in of his own free will.

"Cas, why—" Dean swallowed, his entire being vibrating with nerves. "Why aren't you kissing me back?"

"You haven't granted me permission yet," Castiel said, running His hands down Dean's sides to rest them on his hips. "You have to let me inside."

When Dean opened his eyes, they were dark and drowning in desire. Castiel drank in the sight of His Dean, full of need and close— so close— to being ready.

"Yes." The word burst from Dean, from somewhere deep within. "Yes. Cas, I—"

Castiel crushed his mouth against His Dean's lips, cutting off his sentence. The kiss was rough, unrefined, full of long-simmering need and desire. They had both waited years for this, neither of them sure if it was what the other wanted. Now, they were certain. 

When Castiel slid His hands under His Dean's shirt— touching wonderfully hot, smooth skin— Dean moaned into Castiel's mouth. Castiel wanted that. He needed that. He wanted and needed that in a way He never had before. 

He brought his hands down further, skimming over Dean's jeans until He could hook them under Dean's thighs. In one swift, sure, moment, Castiel lifted His Dean from the floor and sat him on the counter. 

Growling, Dean pulled Castiel closer. His hands ran under Castiel's trench coat and sought out the buttons on his shirt. Castiel guided Dean, wanting him closer, wanting to let him crawl inside and feel more.

However, Dean found one of the lesions marring Castiel's vessel. Dean snapped his head back, rejecting Castiel's touch. Pressing his palm against Castiel's chest, Dean pushed Him away. 

"Fuck," Dean muttered. "What the fuck am I doing?" 

Dean sat on Bobby's kitchen counter, panting, heavy-lidded with desire, and he rejected Castiel. 

"What's happening to you, Cas?" Dean asked. "It's like you're falling apart."

His Dean rejected Him.

"You—" Dean wiped his lips. "You need help, Cas."

Castiel retreated to the darkest corner of the room, watching His Dean reject him. 

"Cas?"

"I was wrong," Castiel said. He kept his voice soft, calm, even. "I thought you just needed time but I was wrong."

Dean furrowed his brow. "About what?"

Castiel looked Dean in the eye, the blue glow of His grace illuminating the room. "You don't love me."

Bathed in the light of Heaven, Dean was radiant. It glimmered off the water in Dean's eyes. It almost looked like they were filled with tears.

"Fuck." The water escaped Dean's eyes. "You don't know a fucking thing, do you?" The words were angry but the tone was not. "I don't know what you are but you're not Cas. Not my Cas."

Castiel stared at Dean— still beautiful, still Dean Winchester. But still not His.

"I suppose I want what I cannot have," Castiel said. "Goodbye, Dean."

The souls stirred inside Him. They wanted to be away from this place. So did Castiel. He unfurled His wings and flew away.

The last thing He heard was Dean shouting His name. 


	3. The Hand That Feeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter needs a tag. Maybe something like body horror or dissociation.

Castiel fell to his knees in the middle of the church. It was dirty, dilapidated, and deserted. Dried leaves and ash coated the floor. The red sunrise broke through the shattered windows, making it appear as if the building was burning once again.

_He does not love you,_ the souls hissed softly in Castiel's mind, _but we do._

Yes. Yes, Castiel had their love. He had the love of many others— their respect, their devotion— given of their own will. 

But not from Dean. Dean was not His.

Castiel stood and walked up the rows of crumbling, broken pews. The smell of smoke still lingered, even years after the church was set alight and abandoned. Castiel could see the event as if it were still happening— the priest taking a lighter out of his pocket and dropping it upon his Bible— and as if it never had. He could see through all of time, through dimensions, through worlds. 

He was God and God was omnipotent, of course.

A flower peeked through a crack in the wooden floors. Castiel knew that, if left alone, it would turn into a bright yellow blub. It would be the first of many. The flowers would take over the church, changing it into something new, something green, something alive.

Castiel stepped on the flower. The souls within Him wriggled, delighted. 

On the end of a child's dream, Castiel flew from the church to a rally held in a city centre during the near future. He landed in the middle of His people. At a woman's gasp, the throng of bodies turned to Him. Signs bounced to the ground, chants echoed into silence, and they stared at Him with widened eyes. They looked at him in awe, wonder, reverence, and fear. Castiel accepted them all. They would learn to love Him.

"Be not afraid," Castiel said.

They screamed.

Castiel fell to his knees in the middle of the church. It was fully intact, with high stained glass windows and rows of shining wood pews facing a golden altar. There were no people, though Castiel could feel the ghosts of them— the remnants of their souls— left from a different time. 

_We love you,_ the souls said _. We love you, God._

Yes. Yes, Castiel was loved. 

A face flashed in His mind, one with green eyes shining wetly in the radiant light of His grace. 

Castiel stood and walked along the rows of pews, seeing faces of the congregation turn to him, their faces transparent and confused. The priest stood, the hand in his pocket wrapped around a metal lighter. He pulled it out— hiding it in his palm and letting it burn him— and held it over the Bible, soaked in alcohol. 

Castiel caught the lighter before it dropped, the flames licking harmlessly at his skin. The congregation came into focus— solid bodies rather than ghosts— while the priest faded away.

_You saved them,_ the souls shared. _They love you._

Castiel fell to his knees in the middle of the church. It was both complete and burned, filled and empty. The church was a vessel; it was a vessel for those inside it.

Surging between the atoms in the air, Castiel shot into the past. He stood amongst politicians— each one dressed in dark, expensive suits and polished shoes— as the president signed an accord. The president spoke of peace and unity but his mind was full of desire for war and profit. He was a liar. Liars should choke on their false tongues. 

Castiel made it so.

Days later, when the president's falsehoods came to light, the people called his death an act of God. They praised Him. They loved Him.

_They love you,_ the souls whispered, shimmering underneath their vessel, _but they can love you more._

Castiel fell to his knees in the middle of the church. It twisted and turned before His eyes, unable to focus on the here, the now, or the thereafter. 

Castiel fell to his knees in the middle of the church. Black water dripped from his hair onto the floor, the droplets swirling into the vortex of time.

Castiel fell to his knees in the middle of the church. He looked at his coat, covered in blood. It was not His. He did not know to whom it belonged. 

Castiel fell to his knees in the middle of the church. The souls glowed from the cracks in His vessel. Soon His body would be only lesions, no skin.

Castiel fell to his knees in the middle of the church. He was coming apart at the seams. 

_We love you,_ the souls whispered, _so let us out._

Castiel did not know where he was— when he was— but he knew what he was. 

And it was not God.

Castiel stood in the middle of the church, the boardroom, the city, the black hole of time and space. He wrapped his arms across his body— holding himself together through sheer force of will— and took a step forward. 

The souls shook, slithered, slammed against their vessel, and screamed.

Castiel took a step forward. 

_We love you,_ shouted the souls, _and served you. Let us out!_

Castiel took a step forward. He was in the church. 

_Let us out!_

Castiel took a step forward. He was in a room with four walls and a table. 

_We love you!_

_"_ Holy shit! Cas?" 

Castiel took a step forward. He was in a house. The souls did not want to be in this house. They wanted out. 

"Cas? Cas! C'mon, buddy, talk to me."

Castiel took a step forward. His hands were covered in blood, not his own. What did the souls make him do?

"Hey, stay with me now."

_Let us out! We love you! Not him! Never him!_

Castiel took a step forward. He was shaking, sliding through dimensions, struggling to keep his feet on the floor, but he kept moving. He knew, with absolute certainty— not as God but as Castiel— that the souls could not be freed. If they were freed, it would spell disaster for the world, for the humans, for the one he loved. 

"Cas!"

_We gave you our love! Free us!_

Castiel took a step forward. He forced his broken and bloody vessel to shift into the right time, to the right place, to the right person. He used the voice calling his name as an anchor and crawled towards the one he loved. 

"Help—" Castiel began, but he could not finish as his voice was pulled into the dimension behind him.

_No!  
_

"I got you, Cas. I got you!"

Castiel started to fall to his knees in the middle of Bobby's kitchen floor.

"Help me," Castiel implored— begged, pleaded, prayed— his voice rough and worn.

Dean caught Castiel and held him close.


	4. Something I Can Never Have

A week passed. Or, at least, that was what Dean claimed. Castiel could not be sure. For him, it was a hundred years as well as five minutes as well as no time at all. He phased in and out of his prime reality. With great effort and exertion, Castiel managed to stay in the same location: Bobby's living room couch. Sitting in the same spot, Castiel ended up in a barren wasteland of a different dimension, a grassy sea in the past, and a moment in the future when the house's walls came crumbling down. Sometimes, Castiel was in them all at once. 

Every passing second— every lost second, every new second— Castiel struggled to keep the souls at bay. The souls made their discontent, their anger, their rage, known. Their voices skittered across all of space and time, dragging Castiel along with them. Every time Castiel shifted, new wounds opened in his vessel. Through them, the souls glowed, vying for escape. Castiel patched them with his grace, leaving lesions on his vessel with each one, but it was a losing battle. It was only a matter of time before the souls escaped. 

_We don't love you,_ the souls howled, their hate like harsh hands around Castiel's neck _. We never did._

"Cas?"

A hand grabbed Castiel's shoulder. The hand made him whole. He grasped at the point of connection, letting it pull him back to his own time, his own space, his own vessel. 

Castiel blinked and he was sitting on the cold, hard floor of the warehouse when it all began. He could not remember leaving Bobby's couch. The blood sigil which opened the door to Purgatory lay upon the wall, dried to the colour of rust. Castiel leaned against the table holding all the components to the spell: a jar of blood, a knife, the words of a spell written upon a scroll. The familiar voices of Sam and Bobby bounced around behind Castiel. He could not process the words.

Castiel focused on the hand and followed the line of the arm to which it was attached until he found Dean's eyes. Those eyes were the one constant in Castiel's ever-shifting universe. He would always find his way back to them. He had to.

"Cas," Dean said. "You with me, buddy?"

Dean's face swam in Castiel's vision, appearing as if he were at the bottom of the ocean. No. It was Castiel who was in the ocean— one from another time, another place.

"I..." Castiel swallowed. He focused on the warmth of the hand on his shoulder, on the realness of it. "I don't know."

Another hand rested on Castiel's knee. It allowed Castiel to break through the surface of the ocean and return to Dean.

"Did you know this place used to be all ocean?" Castiel tried to take a deep breath but there was water in his lungs. "I was just there."

"Yeah." Dean pushed back Castiel's hair, soaked with saltwater. "I can see that."

Before Dean could take his hand away, Castiel grabbed Dean's wrist. Castiel's limbs were slow and heavy, weak and weary. Dean could have backed away if he wanted. He did not, nor did he show any reaction to touching the wounds— raised and round— on Castiel's hands. 

Castiel pulled his other arm out of the ocean below, through the dust in the air, and out of the dirt in the ground. With his mind and back in their proper time and place— at least for now— Castiel clasped Dean's hand between both his own.

The souls still screamed. They never stopped their constant assault, striking against Castiel's ribcage to break free. However, when Dean squeezed Castiel's hand, the souls seemed a little quieter. 

"Hang on, Cas," Dean said, "we'll open that portal soon. Then you can throw all those souls back where they belong."

That must be the plan. Castiel might have been there when it was made. He could not be sure. Castiel nodded anyway. If that was the plan, Castiel trusted it. He had faith in Dean.

Another voice sounded from the left. Castiel tried to see the owner but everything beyond Dean's face was a complete blur. Dean turned to the voice and nodded, the lines on his forehead deepening when he returned his attention to Castiel. 

Castiel wished he could tell if the sound he heard were two sets of footsteps leaving the room or the souls launching themselves at his heart. 

"I'm not—" Castiel gasped when a soul clawed at his stomach. "I'm not likely to survive this, am I?"

Dean licked his lips, a clear internal debate about what he should say flashing across his eyes before he let out a breathless, "No. You probably won't."

Castiel attempted a smile— at least he attempted to curve what he could feel of his lips upward— and said, "I really fucked up, didn't I?" 

Biting his bottom lip to keep it from wobbling, Dean, in a tone meant to be teasing but ended up broken, asked, "Where'd you learn to talk like that, buddy?"

"From you, I'm sure," Castiel said, his light tone far too heavy.

"Yeah. Guess I'm a bad influence." 

"No, Dean." Castiel struggled to hold on, struggled to stay above the water, struggled to stay in time, but he did. He did because he needed to look Dean in the eyes. "Quite the opposite."

Dean's answering laugh was more of a sob. 

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel said.

"I know you are, Cas." Dean took a deep breath and stared at their joined hands. "Does it make you feel any better saying it?" When Castiel shook his head, Dean responded, "Yeah. Me either."

"I'd make it up to you if I knew how. I'd find a way to redeem myself." Castiel wanted to sit up, to lean forward, to catch Dean's eyes again, but the weight of the souls kept him down. "I won't ask for your forgiveness but I'd—"

"Cas." Dean took his hand off Castiel's knee and brought it to his face, finding the last of his unmarred skin behind his ear. "If we had time, you could've had it." Dean cupped the back of Castiel's neck and pulled him to his chest. Leaving a kiss on the crown of Castiel's head, Dean whispered, "We could've had it all." 

Pressed against Dean's chest, the souls within Castiel silenced. All he heard was the human heart beating in his ear. The moment lasted until the end of time, only a few seconds, all across dimensions, but it was not long enough. It could never be long enough. 

"Dean," a voice— Bobby's voice, Castiel could understand it now— called from the doorway, "it's time." 

With the weight of sins and souls within him, Castiel could not stand. Dean assisted Castiel, but even he could not lift Castiel to his feet. Castiel was too heavy a burden to carry. 

"C'mon, Dean." Another voice— Sam this time, alert and lucid— was right above Castiel. "I'll get this side. You get that one. We got you, Cas, don't worry." 

With one arm slung over each brother's shoulders, Castiel rose from the ground. With the combined might of all three of them, Castiel ascended and stood on his feet. The Winchesters helped carry Castiel to the sigil. 

The souls did not like that. The souls did not like that at all. They swirled within Castiel, working together to escape with renewed fury. Castiel's stomach distended as they tried to break free. Cracks appeared in Castiel's vessel— too fast for Castiel to repair them all in time— the combined white light of the souls bright and blinding in the dark room. 

"Cas?" 

Castiel could not tell who asked the question. All his attention went to keeping himself together, to holding back the tide of angry souls ready to wreak havoc upon the world.

"You better hurry," Castiel said, struggling to speak as a soul yanked on his vocal cords.

Scurried, tense, and hurred actions occurred around Castiel: chanting, the screech of metal, panicked voices. Castiel could not differentiate any one thing from the other. He needed to stand— in the here and now— in front of the wall. 

He needed to stand. He needed to stay in the here and now. He needed to stand, stand, stand; he needed to stay in the here and now, in the here and now, in the— 

The portal to Purgatory opened, a dazzling display of spinning light.

He needed to stand. 

The portal called to the souls and the souls spun along with the light.

He needed to stay in the here and now.

The portal drew the souls out from within Castiel.

Stand.

The souls fought but they were helpless against the power of the portal.

Here.

Streaming from every orifice, every hole, every wound on his vessel, the souls were wretched from Castiel and into the portal.

And.

Castiel screamed in his true voice as the souls left him. They did not go gently. They grabbed hold of Castiel— his organs, his skin, his veins, his grace— as they were forced back into Purgatory.

Now.

Castiel stood. He stayed in the here and now. He remained until every last soul was plucked from him and sent into the portal. He remained until he was empty. He remained until he could not and then he remained a little bit longer. 

When he fell to the floor the second the portal closed, he remained.

When he opened his eyes, seeing three faces— his family— peering down at him with worried expressions, Castiel remained.

He tried to become God. He brought danger to the world. He caused pain to the one he loved. Yet, Castiel remained.


	5. Together

Dull.

Castiel felt dull. He was an angel, with his recovering grace collected in his core, but he felt dim, weak, and worn out. He was— as Dean so succinctly put when Castiel tried to explain the sensation— once an entire light show who was now a single bulb hanging from a wire. 

Dull.

From his perch on the foot of the bed in Bobby's second floor guest room, Castiel heard the Winchesters talking about him in the kitchen. He was a divine being, after all. Divine beings had sensitive senses, souls or no souls inside them.

The brothers were concerned about Castiel. Castiel hated to cause them any distress. He had done enough of that during his short stint as God. 

Sam spoke softly. The man had every reason to hate Castiel— for breaking his wall, for hurting his brother, for wreaking havoc upon the world— but all he showed was forgiveness. He knocked on Castiel's door every morning and asked about Castiel's well-being. Sam never seemed to mind that Castiel could not find an answer. 

Dean was louder and angrier, but every word was undercut with worry. Castiel tried not to listen. It was too difficult to perceive Dean. Every time Castiel heard Dean's voice, caught a glimpse of his body, or sensed his presence, Castiel could not help but remember everything he did to Dean. 

Castiel loved Dean. The souls knew it. Castiel wanted to be loved. The souls knew that, as well. 

All chatter from below stopped when Bobby— ever the voice of reason— returned from his supply run. The rest of the morning passed quietly, with the three men ambling around the house. 

Sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, cutting across Castiel's lap. His hands— the skin smooth and healed, just like the rest of his vessel— warmed under the light. Castiel stared at them and remembered the blood which once covered them. He still did not know all the things he had done. He doubted he would ever know it all.

The door burst open. It was Dean, of course. Dean never knocked. 

"So, this is what you're gonna do?" Dean let the door slam shut behind him and strode across the room. "Just sit here in the dark for the rest of time?"

When Dean opened the curtains, he brought light into the world. The room filled with sunlight, illuminating the room's sparse furniture and unfinished wallpaper. Dean crossed his arms and leaned against the windowsill. The yellow sun crowed his head like a halo. It was far more fitting on Dean than Castiel. 

"Then what should I do?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know." Dean shrugged. "Open a window, maybe? Smells like broody angel in here." 

Castiel squinted. "What exactly does 'broody angel' smell like?"

Dean ducked his head but he could not hide his smile. "Kinda like rain. It's nice, actually." Dean's cheeks turned pink. "But, uh, don't tell him that."

"I'll try not to."

Castiel joined Dean at the window. Dean eyed Castiel as he closed in, unmoving. So, when Castiel reached the window, he placed one arm on either side of Dean's body. Dean's breath hitched, his pulse increased, and his blush deepened. Surrounded by Castiel's arms, Dean did not tense or become guarded. He relaxed and softened, letting Castiel hook his chin over his shoulder.

Castiel opened the window. 

"There," Castiel said as he stepped back, "I opened a window."

A fresh current of air ruffled Dean's hair as he stood stock still, his lips slightly parted. "Uh, yeah. Good job, buddy."

"I wish I knew what else I could do." 

Under Dean's watchful eyes— as brilliant and beautiful as his soul— Castiel was stripped bare, vulnerable. Castiel did not hide. Dean deserved to know Castiel— inside and outside. 

"I wish I knew too, Cas." Dean stepped forward and reached out to Castiel. "But maybe..." Dean placed his thumb on Castiel's bottom lip. "Maybe we could start here?"

Dean's touch held the power of only one soul, one individual, but it lit Castiel from the inside, brighter and stronger than anything from Purgatory. At that moment, Castiel realized it was Dean who held the might of God within him. It was not the same might found in Castiel's stolen souls but something Dean earned and created over his years as a righteous man. 

"Dean," Castiel whispered, the name full of awe, full of worship. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Dean smiled, soft and sincere. "I mean, you did give me that vision— or whatever you call it. You're, like, super into me, huh?"

Castiel lowered his gaze. "I'm a little embarrassed."

Dean chuckled. "Don't be." He ran his thumb across Castiel's bottom lip. "I'm going to kiss you now, Cas, but only if you're gonna kiss me back."

Dean waited for Castiel's nod of assent, then leaned forward. It started with just a touch of lips, gentle, hesitant, almost anxious. Once it was clear Castiel would follow Dean's lead, Dean grew bolder. He wrapped one arm across Castiel's shoulders and tangled a hand in Castiel's hair. Dean pressed closer to Castiel and opened his mouth, letting Castiel inside. His tongue tasted sweet. His tongue tasted holy. His tongue tasted like love.

When they broke apart, Castiel had to resist the urge to drop to his knees to behold the vision of divinity before him. Dean's release of breath as they parted was a benediction upon Castiel's skin; Dean's touch was a blessing upon his very being. Castiel viewed Dean's darkened eyes, his swollen lips, and his growing hardness and knew he deserved to be worshiped. 

"Sit on the bed," Castiel said.

Dean followed the command without question, face filled with wonder as he watched Castiel approach him. Castiel kissed Dean's forehead, his cheeks, and his lips, a prayer behind each one. 

Castiel fell to his knees before Dean Winchester. He ran his palms up Dean's denim-clad thighs in an act of reverence. Wedged between Dean's legs, Castiel saw Dean tip his head back towards the heavens and sigh when Castiel left a gentle kiss on Dean's stomach. Castiel curled his fingers under Dean's waistband and waited.

Dean raised his hips, allowing Castiel to pull down his jeans and reveal the full glory hidden underneath. Castiel looked upon it in awe, held it in admiration, and took it into his mouth in veneration. It was holy. 

Gasping, Dean spoke Castiel's name as a prayer. Castiel could feel the familiar pull deep in his core. It grew stronger with each touch, with each act of Castiel's worship. Dean took one of Castiel's hands in his own, his grip tightening with each vocal expression of pleasure. 

Collapsing back onto the bed, Dean moaned Castiel's name. The prayer in Dean's voice filled Castiel with an indescribable emotion. Muscles taut with his building pleasure, Dean arched his back, thrusting deeper into Castiel's mouth. Dean tried to cry out Castiel's name but he could not speak. Castiel heard him anyway, through their joined hands resting on Dean's hip, through the prayers Dean continuously sent, through the salty taste of Dean's release. Castiel swallowed, allowing a part of Dean inside his vessel. 

As Dean came to rest, Castiel pulled his jeans back over Dean's hips, zipped them up, and hooked the button closed. Castiel gathered Dean in his arms and brought them both to the centre of the bed, where they could lay side by side. 

"Fuck, Cas," Dean muttered against Castiel's chest. "That was—" He took a breath. "Holy fuck."

"Holy," Castiel agreed.

"Remind me to, um..." Dean sighed in contentment and closed his eyes. "Remind me to rock your world when I can feel my legs again, kay?"

"Of course."

"Man, if this is how you want to work on our problems, I am _so_ on board."

"As am I." Castiel ran his hand down Dean's back, enjoying how Dean's satisfaction made him pliant and warm. "Though we do need to talk."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Dean left a lazy kiss on Castiel's collarbone. "But for now, let's just..." 

Castiel would have given Dean a reply but he would not hear it. Dean laid in Castiel's arms, fast asleep. For the first time in a long while, Dean rested. Castiel was content to let Dean remain there for as long as he wished. 

In the coming days, there was to be much work to be done. Castiel needed to pay penance, to redeem himself, to set everything right. That was in the coming days, however. For now, he allowed himself contentment in taking the first step.

Castiel held Dean close and watched over him as he slept. Castiel was Dean's guardian, his angel, his love, his Castiel. Castiel was Dean's— inside and outside— for all of time and all of space. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not bad for a oneshot, eh? Thank you so much for your comments and kudos! They kept me going through my writing fueled weekend (and a couple days after). [You can find me on tumblr. I loving making new friends. <3](https://thisisapaige.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Til next time!!


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